


en Portugal

by DolphinNeymar



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolphinNeymar/pseuds/DolphinNeymar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Messi is on his vacation during the two months where he doesn't have to play. While he is there, he finds that Cristiano has decided to revisit his home country. They decide to vacation together, because the best rivals need to know some things about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	en Portugal

 

Portugal, on most days, was much like the clamoring city of Barcelona in many ways. The sun beat down over the city of Lisbon as it did everywhere else at noon, and yet it was nothing short of magnificent. The summer had recently set in, signaling the end of the season, and a break before the new. That's what it meant for soccer anyway, and especially to Lionel Messi, who was currently lounging in his hotel suite located on the beaches of Portugal, one he had rented out for a month and a half of vacation. He loved the city because of its climate, its beaches, and well, because it was so similar to his home. That's where he wanted to be anyway, but somehow his teammates had tempted him into coming to Lisbon for vacation, regardless of where he actually wished he was. At least he wasn't having a unpleasant time, just a normal one, sprawling across the artificial sheets and the hard hotel mattress. It was three, about the time he usually awoke from his afternoon siesta, he realized, glancing at the blaring red numbers that read '15:00'. Slowly, Leo arose from his bed, and stood on his toes, stretching his arms to the ceiling, even though he couldn't reach. A growling emanated from Leo's stomach as well, and he remembered that he hadn't eaten all day. Food is very important for a footballer, and since Messi had nothing to eat here in the hotel, he opted to go out for dinner. Oh how he wish he had stayed in Barcelona.  
  
_ **LIO** _  
  
The streets of Lisbon, Portugal were very crowded, and it is hard to make your way through the exited throng of people if they are really trying to get somewhere. The restaurant I'm going to isn't more than a few blocks away, and its taking forever to get there as the clamor along the streets continue with the considerable din of voices roaring like waves crashing from all sides of me. Disguise is a useful tool if you aren't already hindered from a crowd, but it is now useless to me. I don't take off the glasses though, just glare through them at people who happen to get in the way. I eventually reach my restaurant of choice, yet I groan loudly when I see the front doors of the prestigious diner packed with people, so many that I can't believe they'd fit. I huff under my breath, but I don't say anything as I push through, having already reserved a seat.   
"Excuse me." I say, grabbing the waiter's attention. "I reserved a seat here." The waiter rolled his eyes at those who were bunched, uttering an "excuse me" or "out of the way please" every once and a while. I hung behind him, trailing through the people. After about five minutes of shoving my way through the mess, I reached the table. It looked nice and clean, with dark, polished wood and a white square of cloth laying across. The waiter passed me the menu. As I glanced through it however, I couldn't help but notice who sat in the table next to mine, looking so obviously like someone who believed they were a gift to the earth, upright with a shine of confidence painted across his face. It was fucking Cristiano Ronaldo, big shot Real Madrid superstar.   
'Great', I thought. 'Today was going to be great.'

Cristiano Ronaldo practically sparkled, donned with only clothes from his own line, as he had a very large, expensive looking steak placed in front of him. No wonder this restaurant was haunted by so many. I must have drawn some kind of attention to myself, as Cristiano kept glancing at the floor proximal to my feet. I looked down at the spotless carpet, and realized my shoes were marking it with dirty footprints. I guess I'm not dressed in the most expected attire for the occasion, wearing a simple gray hoodie and jeans, with my Barcelona jersey underneath. I must be an insult to every type of fashion. My paradoxical appearance for this locale appeared only to draw his attention though, and I was grateful that the pack of shuffling people had no idea who I was. I ordered a cup of hot tea, and a slab of fish (of what kind I had no idea) from the decorated menu. The meal was no short of 35 dollars, so I hoped it to be good quality. The waiter was very friendly, but way too talkative.

“You know who he is right?” he asked me. “Si, I know.” I replied. He went on to talk about how amazing Ronaldo was, but I wasn't listening. The tea sat in front of me and I stared into it, my reflection looking right back at me. I edged my glasses down my nose so I could see better into the yellow-green abyss that was the drink. I couldn't view the bottom. The smell of the herbal coercion and the droning voice of the waiter relaxed me in a way. The waiter stopped talking though as Cristiano called for him.

“Excuse Me” he announced in Portuguese. “Come here.” The waiter responded immediately, going to Ronaldo's table and bending over to hear what he had to say. I couldn't hear them, and it was as if he didn't want to be heard. I heard my name, the one I registered the table with anyway, and that struck me as odd. Had the Portuguese legend asked for my name? It didn't seem very characteristic of him, or at least of the person who I saw in the press. The waiter however, beckoned me, and I walked over, giving Cristiano a questioning look. I heard Ronaldo's voice as he told me to sit, politely, in Portuguese. I don't know Portuguese, but I had brought along a phrasebook, so I easily recognized the kind phrase. I slipped the chair across from him out, and plopped into it. The waiter brought my tea over, and set it down carefully to my left. There was more soft Portuguese directed toward me, and although it sounded very nice, I couldnt understand it. I took the small window after his sentence to tell him I dont speak it. He graciously made the switch to Spanish.

“Hello.” he said, trying to gain my attention. “Hi.” I replied, still staring into my cup.

“I know you.” he serenades. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Who am I then?” I ask. “Leo.” he says. Crickets seem to echo between us. He pushed the steak, now cut, around his plate.

“What brings you to Portugal?” he questions, softly, so no one can hear.

“Vacation.” I say. “Oh. Okay.”

“You?” I already knew the answer. “This is my hometown.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I slipped the sunglasses off of my face, and the hood from my head. It was no use

to me now anyway. I wanted to be able to observe my surroundings better, observe him better. I saw flashes of cameras in my peripheral vision. Of course.

“Leo?” he asked. “yes?”

“Let me show you my city.”

“thank you.”

We traipsed out of that hellish pace together, and into the crowded roads, the sun setting on our backs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yo yo. this is my first football fic. enjoy :3  
> there may be questionable content in later chapters.


End file.
